


Uther Feels the Need to Yell . . . Very Loudly

by i_amtheoutlaw



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AND ARTHUR JUST WANTS COCK, Canon Era, IN REAL LIFE, M/M, MERLIN'S COCK, Magic Revealed, Merthur - Freeform, Rimming, UTHER'S REALLY JUST A FLUFFY BUNNY, magical sex, or maybe its just me?, seriously, that is, this fic is on crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Uther has to yell at his son and his idiot manservant. Only it becomes clear very quickly that Arthur is the only idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stopping of Bald Morgana

**Author's Note:**

> This is all unbeta-ed! Sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has all been edited as of 5/14/14

It’s true. His son has always been an idiot, although this isn't something Uther ever once thought he'd voice.

\--

Arthur is brilliant! Yes, he's always known this, but he's just proved it . . . yet again.

\--

Merlin is tired of Arthur dragging him into his brilliantly stupid plans and getting yelled at by Uther.

\--

"No," Merlin says flatly, because he is _not_ going there. Arthur's thought-out-of-boredom-plans are never good and Merlin isn't about to let himself get dragged into another one. "There is no way I'm helping you with this . . . Morgana is my friend—"

"You are my manservant, Merlin. You will do what I say, when I say it," Arthur's quick to cut him off.

Merlin rolls his eyes, internally bellowing out, _stupid prat alert in the west corridor._ Merlin gives Arthur a fake laugh and manages to glare at him at the same time. Making his voice firm, and trying for a little deeper, Merlin barks, "You. Can't. _Make._ Me. Do. Anything."

\--

The stocks are never fun, but Merlin always makes himself look like he's having the time of his life just in case a certain royal prat is looming around the premises or watching from a window . . . which Merlin knows Arthur does. Considering how Arthur always seems to know what kind of food is tossed at Merlin all day and then proceeds to have some brought up to his chambers just so he can blast Merlin some more. 

It's really surprising Merlin how much self-control he's been gaining. If he was back in Ealdor and someone had the audacity to throw rotten veggies at him, well, he probably would've given them giant, nasty boils all over their skin without even thinking about it. 

_What had mother been thinking sending me to Camelot? Maybe she knew I'd be too scared to get my head chopped off?_ Merlin wonders as a flying tomato connects and dirties his face.

Then again, that isn't very likely considering how much he and Will accidentally got themselves into trouble. Old man Winters threatened to behead them with a shovel one time, but that Merlin really just found it hilarious. 

Uther is by no means _hilarious._

\--

Merlin dodges the potato that flies by his head and instantly dives for safety under Arthur's table. An assortment of flying, smelly things try breaching the chair's legs while Merlin rolls on to his stomach and inches forwards, attempting to get closer to Arthur's bed without being hit by anything.

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur laughs out. "You can't hide from me, so just accept to help me with my Morgana plan and we can forget this ever happened."

"Never!" Merlin yells as he breaks through the wall of chairs and throws a stray tomato towards Arthur.

Without stopping to check and see if he landed the blow, Merlin darts towards the bed and gracefully slides under. _I totally didn't bang both my knees, rip my tunic, and smash my head against the wood_ , Merlin tries telling himself, but it doesn't make the pain go away.

A few seconds later, Merlin hears footsteps and Arthur's smug voice, "come out, come out where ever you are! And accept your defeat like a man, _Mer_ lin!"

"Never!" He yells again.

"Very well then," Arthur says, and he sounds so smug that Merlin almost can't take it. He can picture Arthur's stupid little smirk and wants to knock it off his face.

Next thing Merlin knows his ankles are being grabbed and he's sliding across the dusty floor.

\--

Merlin usually gives up once Arthur opts for using real violence, so Arthur decides the best course of action, in this particular case, will have to be violence. Normally he can teach Merlin a lesson without actually hitting or wrestling, but tonight is not one of those nights, apparently.

_He said I can't make him do whatever I want! Ha!_ Arthur thinks as he strides over to Merlin's pathetic hiding spot under the bed. _Honestly, Merlin, you're a man! Not a dog in the middle of a thunderstorm._

Arthur grabs thin ankles and pulls.

He's expecting a little fight, maybe Merlin flailing uselessly a bit before Arthur manages to sit on top of him, like he always does. What Arthur isn't expecting is . . . well . . . what happens.

Merlin kicks one of his feet free and sends it straight into Arthur's crotch. 

_Damn those stupidly long legs_ , Arthur mentally curses as he loses his hold on Merlin's other foot by accident—not because Merlin actually hurt him—and before he can ever register what's happening, Arthur's being pounced on by like, a hundred pounds of sharpened bones.

First its Merlin's damn knees that give Arthur trouble, it's like the caps of them are secretly made out of rocks. The rock-knees jab into Arthur's thighs and instantly sends clenching pain to his muscles.

_Note to self: Rock-knees can cause instant charley horses . . . avoid rock knees at all costs!_

Then it's Merlin's elbows. While trying to wrap Merlin up, so Arthur won't actually have to hurt him, Arthur somehow manages to take a swift elbow to his side, and then consecutively after—which is completely out of luck, because Arthur refuses to believe that he is actually using fighting tactics against the prince of Camelot—Merlin manages to bow him right in the eye.

Arthur's been hit with elbows a lot, Morgana's were always the worst, but this . . . Merlin's elbows . . . they are like thin miniature jousting sticks or something.

_Have I ever mentioned that jousting is my least favorite sport . . . in the history of ever?_ Arthur wonders, sarcastically. Then, all of the sudden, Arthur finds himself on the floor; and this is honestly the most pathetic fight Arthur's ever been in, but for some reason he already knows he's going to be sore as hell tomorrow.

They start rolling around, fighting for dominance, in which Arthur would've easily gotten . . . _if_ he hadn't been introduced to Merlin's many other painful body parts. His hips seem razor sharp and Arthur is now avoiding them at all cost, along with Merlin's shoulder blades and fingers . . . ugh. Those damn fingers!

Arthur can't avoid the fingers because Merlin is slapping him. Slapping Arthur in every place he can manage from their tangled position. And Arthur would compare Merlin to a girl—because honestly, no man should ever fight with slaps—only Merlin's slaps are really quite effective. His long, thin, boney fingers are acting as whips, burning Arthur's skin, and suddenly Arthur's very glad Merlin isn't putting his—surely rocky—knuckles to use.

Right as Merlin lands his first loud slap across his face, Arthur hears something that sounds like a dramatic kingly gasps from the direction of the doorway . . . 

_Well damn,_ Arthur thinks as he looks up from where he’s lying, which is . . . still on the ground, with three out of his four limbs tightly wrapped around his manservant. 

\--

Uther just needed one small conformation from his son, one tiny little nod. That's it. He should have known walking down there himself to get it would be a terrible idea.

Walking in on Arthur—Prince of Camelot, _my son_ , Uther’s mind helpfully supplies—rolling around on the dirty floor with his manservant wrapped in a tight embrace, and said servant slapping him in the face is definitely not what Uther expected he'd find though.

And, of course . . . Arthur just stares at Uther, he’s still clinging tightly to the boy whose now is stiff as a board and trying in a forceful manor to push Arthur as far away from him as possible. As Uther lets out a frustrated sigh, Arthur seems to snap out of his daze and quickly lets the boy go. The servant then jumps up about fifty times quicker than his son—Uther will save that discussion for another day—and rights himself, hands clamping behind his back.

"Did I just see you slap the prince of Camelot in the face?" Uther growls, he doesn't even know who he's the maddest at right now! Arthur's idiot manservant or his own idiot son! He opts to go with the servant boy. _Who still won't meet my eyes._

Instead of answering instantly like he should, the boy turns to Arthur, but what surprises Uther is the way that this servant looks at his son. Instead of looking at Arthur for some sort of help or pleading, the servant merely glares and then, after taking in Arthur's disheveled state, the boy actually shifts his face into one of sympathy. _I'm beyond confused_ , Uther realizes, suddenly feeling about ten times too tired to deal with this, instead of his usual five. 

"Yes, my lord," The boy starts off honestly, Uther can respect that, and how he’s all of the sudden standing straight and finally meeting Uther's gaze, "I did just slap Arthur in the face, but you must believe me when I say: I did it only thinking of the Lady Morgana's shiny hair."

"What?" Uther barks angrily, thinking, _yes, way beyond confused._

"Well you see, sire, Arthur here was planning on making me sabotage Morgana's hair treatments with stickypaste and I didn't want Morgana's hair to fall out because when I was back in Ealdor me and my best mate put stickypaste in this girls hair and well it all fell—"

Uther silences him with a swift hand movement, cutting off the boy’s useless babbling. Of course he should have this boy flogged, but from the look on Arthur's face Uther can tell his son is, not only okay with being slapped by a servant, but already moving on and thinking of another way to prank Morgana since he's been found out . . . Arthur really is an idiot sometimes.

Knowing he can't very well voice his true opinions because, well . . . Uther could never be heard thanking a servant for trying to knock some sense into his son. He decides a threat will be most effective instead, "you will not put your hands anywhere near him again or you will be flogged." Then Uther turns to Arthur and scolds, "and if Morgana's hair falls out, you will be dancing with her at every gathering we have until it grows back."

Arthur and the serving boy both nod, and Uther takes his leave. Once he's out the door, Uther pointedly ignores the faint slap sound and hushed whispers about 'fingers like rocky whips.'


	2. Magic Games

For some reason, Uther doesn’t go to bed frowning despite.

\--

Merlin’s buns are happy with this, so it must be okay, right?

. . . Right? 

\--

Arthur thinks that Merlin is even more useless when he’s being an annoying hoverer who hovers annoyingly.

\--

The one thing that Merlin likes about Arthur is the fact that they can roll around for nearly five minutes trying to hurt one another, then be caught by the King, and suddenly go back to normal.

"You said best mate?" Arthur questions after he walks over and makes sure the door is shut _and bolted._ "Were you talking about Will?"

Trying not to visibly tense at the mention of his life-long best friend—who is bloody dead and took the blame of sorcery for him—Merlin coughs a little causing Arthur to scrunch his brow as he falls on the bed. "Um, yeah I was talking about him," Merlin admits, feeling awkward for hovering over Arthur’s bed for first the first time in a while.

Arthur pats the spot next to him on the bed. 

_What the hell? Does Arthur seriously want me to sit on his bed?_ Merlin wonders.

Of course Merlin isn't going to turn the offer down, though. It beats standing, especially after all that fighting. Not that he'll ever admit it, but keeping up with Arthur was hard work.

After they get comfortable, which takes a while due to the length of Merlin’s limbs and all Arthur’s chipmunk-like wriggling, but ends up looking something like this: Merlin sprawled out at the end of the bed and leaning against the bed frame, and Arthur mirroring Merlin's position at the top of the bed.

Once they’re settled, Arthur asks, "but I mean . . . how did you like . . . have a best mate who was a sorcerer?"

Merlin snorts, he can't help himself. _Maybe the same way you have a sorcerer as your best friend_ is at the tip of his tongue, but instead he says, "Will's powers were great, once I found out about them we had so much fun."

"How so?" Arthur asks with an appalled look, like Merlin is suggesting the most revolting thing in the world. Like Arthur's picturing Merlin and Will prancing around the forest, doing evil things to travelers just for a laugh.

"Magic isn't evil, Arthur," Merlin starts and he's not quite sure if this is a good idea but he keeps going anyway, "it's only evil if an evil person uses it . . . Will didn't have a single evil bone in his body . . . so his magic was all fun and games . . . at least at the time."

"Games?" Arthur questions in a drawn out way, seeming still uncertain that these 'games' don't have something to do with destroying Camelot.

Merlin laughs because Arthur is just . . . yes, _Arthur._

"Yes, games," Merlin repeats. "Will's mother didn't let him use his magic, so when I found out we did everything in secret . . . but we were pretty much used to being by ourselves all the time anyway so it didn't really matter. But we would sometimes go off in the woods and use his magic to cut down an insane amount of fire wood, and then at night we'd stack it all up in the middle of the village and watch how everybody would freak out in the morning . . . it was great."

\--

"Nobody ever caught you?" Arthur asks. He never realized his manservant was so comfortable about Will's powers. He knew Merlin didn't hate them, but he hadn't realized Merlin played part in these sorcery games.

Merlin shakes his head and sighs, "Will's mother of course eventually caught on, but there wasn't much she could do about it . . . and nobody was complaining. It was free fire wood, after all!"

Arthur can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. _Gods know father would have me flogged senseless,_ he thinks. But Arthur realizes he likes Merlin like this, sprawled out on his bed, face a lit with old memories. Arthur can't even bring himself to care that Merlin was a friend to sorcery anymore. Hell, he wouldn't even care if Merlin were the one with magic. That is, as long as Merlin keeps sitting at the end of Arthur's bed and looking at him with that happy smile.

If not, then of course Arthur would hunt him down.

A sudden jealousy pulls at Arthur, because Will has seen Merlin like this. Will has seen _Arthur’s_ Merlin like this, and probably more times than Arthur has. He pictures Will and Merlin laying on hay mattresses giggling about their wood prank, and then something Merlin said comes in to play, 'but me and Will were pretty much used to being by ourselves all the time . . .'

"You said you and Will were used to being by yourselves?" Arthur questions, not sounding jealous at all. "Why?"

Just when Arthur's realizing that it's stupid to get this jealous over a manservant, a red blush creeps up Merlin's cheeks and Arthur's princely emotion regulator jumps out the window.

_I knew there was a reason why I hated that bloody guy so much_ , Arthur mentally groans to himself. 

"We just . . . you know . . . liked being around each other most of the time,” Merlin explains vaguely. 

_I'm sure you did_ , is what Arthur wants to say, but instead he spits out, "who would like being around you?"

Merlin smiles and pinches Arthur's toes, "apparently Will."

\--

Merlin knows that he’s made a bad decision as soon as he says it—in his defense he still doesn't know why—because Arthur's whole body tenses, and suddenly Merlin is feeling really uncomfortable despite the soft mattress under his buns.

"Yes, apparently," Arthur practically growls.

"Um, ah, yes . . . " Merlin's starts off terribly, waving one of his hands around in a dismissive gesture. Merlin has a feeling that it looks more like a flail, and when Arthur merely raises a shiny, blond brow in his direction, Merlin decides that there is no way he had just heard jealousy in Arthur's voice. No. No way, which means that Arthur's finally seen through all this 'best mate' business and is disgusted. Merlin can do disgusted, though. "Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you before . . . but me and Will, we weren't just friends. We were like . . . you know, and we've never told anyone and I didn't just not tell you . . ."

Merlin trails off . . . maybe he can’t deal with disgusted, because Arthur's face is suddenly as red as the sweetest apples in the kitchen, and he seems to have stopped breathing altogether. Contemplating the situation, Merlin decides standing up for himself is the best course of action, "Don't look at me like that, Arthur! Will was amazing and not disgusting at all! He was a good man and he saved your life because you were important to me! He's dead now because I . . . cause I told him you . . . you . . ."

Merlin doesn't remember it happening, but somewhere during his explanation he started crying.

"Merlin—I—I wasn't . . ." Arthur looks like he’s actually trying. In all honestly, Arthur looks absolutely crushed, his face now pale despite the redness earlier as he explains, "I don't think it's disgusting at all, I don't exactly hate Will for having magic, and I especially don't hate you for . . . you know, _that_."

"Then why did you look at me like that?" Merlin knows he's being stupid and he fully expects the prince to remind him, but surprisingly Arthur doesn't.

Instead, Arthur makes his way to the end of the bed, all the way, until Merlin can feel Arthur's heat ghosting along his side.

"I was . . . I might have been just a bit jealous or something," Arthur admits, voice barely over a whisper. "I just . . . I don't know, I've never had a friend or anybody like that and well I was just being . . ."

Arthur trails off so Merlin wipes his tears away, smiles, and finishes for him, "a prat?"


	3. Structual Combat

Uther really, really should send his son to be flogged a few good times . . . that would surely do the trick.

\--

Merlin can’t quite place why yet, but he knows that he just really should have bolted after Uther yelled at him the other day, because now Arthur is scaring him.

\--

Arthur is going to bloody run someone through.

\--

Uther first notices at the feast in honor of Arthur’s victory in a small tourney against a few of the southern kingdom’s finest knights. 

Everyone has finished eating and his son's had plenty of ale so his servant has wandered off. Arthur manages to focus on the knights talking around him for all of ten seconds before he somehow feels the other boy’s presence leave him and is searching the room for it. 

Following his son’s gaze, they both find Arthur’s servant leaning against a shadowed pillar, talking to a knight from another kingdom. The knight seems to have no regards that he is talking to a servant, reminding Uther too much of his own son.

Just as he’s thinking that, Uther sneaks a peek at Arthur, and _of course_ his son is gritting his teeth, and already standing up.

Uther doesn’t stop him, even though he really should.

_Idiot._

\--

“Merlin,” Arthur growls, creeping up from behind Merlin and his little scrawny thing of a knight friend. 

Merlin startles around quickly, “Um, yes, sire?”

“What are you doing?” Arthur snaps, belatedly registering that Merlin’s wearing his ‘please make this person stop talking to me about stuff I don’t care about look.’

“I was just chatting with Sir Belvion here,” Merlin explains, eyes widening, he adds, “he was just telling me all about the necessity of structural combat practice.”

“Oh,” Arthur starts, relaxing again as some kind of weight seems to leave his shoulders, “well I hate to pull you away from such important conversation, but I’ve decided to retire early tonight.”

\--

Merlin can’t help but gape because Arthur just . . . he just . . . 

Saved Merlin from having to listen to someone’s drunken rambling?

Any other time Arthur would smirk, punch Merlin in the arm and say, “good. Just the conversation I wanted to have with you tomorrow . . . listen intently, Merlin, and be ready to leave in four hours.”

But apparently Arthur’s not trying to cause Merlin any prattish suffering tonight.

Merlin doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

\--

As Uther catches sight of Arthur storming out early, manservant following quickly behind, he does everything in his power to keep from smashing his fists into the table.

Curses inwardly.

Sighs and sips his wine.

_Well, I may have some things to deal with and/or get used to_ , Uther realizes.

At least Morgana seems to be keeping her bloody legs closed.


	4. Work to do

If Merlin thought that was bad, this is bloody terrible.

\--

Arthur doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s sticking to his code: when in doubt, blame Morgana.

\--

Uther thinks it’s time to have a chat with the serving boy.

\--

“You!” Arthur accuses with a harsh pointing finger.

Morgana at least has the decency to look innocent.

“What did you do?” Arthur questions.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arthur,” Morgana scoffs.

And because Arthur really can’t find a way to say ‘I know you did something to make me fall in love with my manservant’ without sounding like a complete tosser or accusing her of sorcery, he decides to let her off the hook.

For now . . .

\--

“You there,” the king says, gesturing towards Arthur's manservant, “come here, you’re dining in my chambers tonight.”

The boy promptly trips on thin air and spills wine everywhere.

Uther rolls his eyes.

\--

“If you don’t mind me asking, why am I here, my lord?” Merlin asks, watching Uther eat. He’s far too nervous to start on his own.

Uther swallow’s his food in one harsh gulp, and sips his wine before explaining, “there are private matters I wish to discuss with you . . . I’m sure you already know what they are.”

_Yes, the fact that I have magic, and now you’re chopping my head off?_ Merlin thinks, but says nothing. 

\--

_Gods._

Uther can’t quite figure out what it is exactly that his son sees in this serving boy who can’t even acknowledge a simple statement, and seems to either a) have a slight mental affliction, or b) have some sort of rare brain dysfunction that prevents him from maintaining complete control over the mobility of his limb functions sometimes.

But honestly, right now, he’s acting like Uther’s five seconds from declaring his execution, and cowardliness shouldn’t attract a prince.

He does have rather captivating eyes though, Uther supposes, and great bone structure. 

“What’s your name again?” Uther asks, “Forgive me, but I don’t remember.”

“. . . It’s um . . . Merlin, sire.”

“Well, Merlin . . . eat your food. I can assure you everything is alright. No need to look like you’re on your deathbed here.”

\--

Merlin’s never seen Uther smile quite so . . . fondly. At least never directed at him.

It’s creepy. Merlin doesn’t like it.

Mostly, because it looks just like Arthur’s smile, but also because it’s kind of . . . nice, and Merlin’s never once thought of Uther Pendragon as _nice._

\--

After the boy starts to eat, Uther says, “Now, let’s get straight to business. I know you’ve been laying with my son.” Merlin promptly spits his chewed food across the table, and Uther rolls his eyes again, ignoring how many times Merlin has 'promptly' done things just today alone. Then, of course, instead of moving to clean it up, Merlin stays slacked jawed, leaving the chewed up food like a nasty barrier rotting between them, staring straight at Uther for the first time tonight. 

“Um . . . laying with Arthur?” He eventually coughs out. Then, after snagging up the wine beside his plate and taking a few long gulps, he adds, “Like sleeping in his bed . . . you know . . . doing that?”

Uther merely nods.

\--

“No! I would never . . .” Merlin starts, and then at Uther’s glare he trails off, opting to correct himself, “I mean not that there’s anything wrong with Arthur, sire. It’s just that I don’t think he thinks of me in that way.” 

Uther stares at him, probably into his very soul, for what seems like hours. Then eventually draws out, “Are you . . . lying to me?”

Merlin frantically shakes his head, no, he’s pretty sure he’d remember that.

\--

_Oh bloody hell_ , Uther inwardly curses. 

Arthur is officially more idiotic than Uther first calculated.

The kid’s bloody running around like some kind of . . . of . . .

Jealous, inappropriate arse . . .

FOR NO BLOODY REASON AT ALL!

He’s not even getting a good shag from Merlin.

But as Uther’s grip tightens around his knife, he suddenly remembers something about how life was life the first couple months after he met Ygraine.

And instead of stabbing something, Uther sighs, and sags down in his chair.

“Listen, Merlin . . . we have work to do, but first . . . clean up this mess."


	5. The Start of Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh guys . . . ya'll have been so great with your comments and such, so, I've been working on this lately. And know now . . . ITS ABOUT TO GET A BIT CRAZY. 
> 
> But it's the good crazy. 
> 
> Hope you like it!!! ENJOYYYYY LOVES!

Merlin absently walks into Gaius’s chambers, not yet fully understanding what the hell just happened.

_Tactics,_ Uther said, _tactics are a warrior’s best friend, Merlin._

\--

Arthur moves on to plan B: When one can’t blame Morgana, clear one’s head with some extra training. 

That always works. 

\--

As Uther stares out the window, he silently hopes the servan—Merlin—can cope with the plan, for the knight’s sake if nothing else.

Arthur can be a bit of a brute when he’s suck in these idiot spells of his own making.

\--

After pacing every square foot of his room, and Gaius’s workshop, Merlin finds himself on the practice field, watching Arthur beat the shit out of Sir Leon, his best knight. He sighs, thinking, _what is my life?_

_Dragons, and pratty princes, and cleaning chamber pots, and destinies._

Merlin was okay with that life, he’d accepted it. But no one ever said he’d have to deal with _this._

_All those muscles and blond hairs and feelings were not part of the job description,_ Merlin thinks sourly, _I bet that dragon is down there laughing at me right now._

Arthur finishes the fight, and stalks over, demanding a waterskin. Merlin absently complies, mainly still going over Uther’s words in his head, trying to figure out how to be ‘overly nice’ and ‘play hard to get’ at the same time.

“Merlin! Merlin!” The prince snaps, and yes, he may have been talking or something, “are you even listening to me?” 

Merlin purses his lips and nods, “but of course, sire.”

Apparently Merlin’s really bad at tactics, either that, or King Uther’s very bad a making plans, because Arthur suddenly feels the need to launch his waterskin at Merlin’s head, verses taking Merlin in his arms and ravishing him. 

Merlin just sighs at that thought, and picks the thing up, too mind-fucked to even call Arthur out on his pratness. When he rights himself, Merlin finds he’s under one of Arthur’s closed-off-I’m-the-mysterious-prince-of-this-land gazes, and then he sighs again. 

\--

The practice field sits right outside the King’s study, and Uther has always liked it like that. The clank of swords always calmed him as he wrote his kingly letters and such. _But._ He now takes to writing all kingly things in his chambers, as to avoid mistakes.

Ever since Merlin, that is.

The day after Uther appointed Arthur the new manservant was the day that changed. 

Instead, Uther now uses the study as a place of pure relaxation and entertainment. He sits back and watches his son and manservant’s antics. 

In private, Uther’s always found the bickering a bit amusing. Arthur’s manservant is quite the cheeky bastard. In every sense of the phrase. But what really amuses Uther is watching Arthur act like a ten year old again . . . and he can’t help but ponder what it would have been like around here if Arthur had found this servant at a young age like Morgana had with hers. 

The results could be hilarious or fatally terrible, Uther decides. 

Like right now for example, Arthur has suddenly found it appropriate to throw things at people’s heads again (yes, you read right, again). There was a phase, one could call it that Uther supposes, a _phase_ from age four to sixteen wherein Arthur had a slight anger implementing problem (Gaius’s carefully chosen words for saying ‘your son’s a complete brat,’ Uther suspects) which resulted in many concussed servants. 

Uther thought he’d grown out of it, but apparently not.

Watching the knights interact with Merlin is almost funnier though. They don’t know whether to arrest the boy for slander, treason, or send him to be flogged. However, they don’t do a thing for fear that they will be flogged. 

Uther has always found this particular group of human interactions to be quite stupidly grand, well . . . he did before.

Now, with his and the servant boy’s plans in motion, Uther can’t help but roll his eyes at his son’s behavior. Honestly, it only took Uther a few months to realize he really did love Ygraine, and Arthur’s had much longer than that. Besides, Arthur’s mother was way worse than Merlin’s ever been. Sure, Ygraine was undoubtedly free from any mental afflictions, and nobility, but she was about five times cheekier than Merlin, and ten times more passionate than Morgana. 

Uther can’t help but smile a bit, thinking back.

Although, the sight of his son now pouring out the contents of his waterskin on Merlin’s head breaks Uther from his thoughts, and he sighs. 

_What the hell, Arthur?_

\--

Merlin’s been acting strange all day. He hasn’t complained once. Nor has Merlin rolled his eyes. Or glared daringly at Arthur’s outlandish requests, and Arthur even told him to empty the chamber pot today.

Arthur’s confused. 

Merlin also seems more, well . . . more lovely than he usually does. He’s tripping himself up more than ever, Arthur’s seen him stumble at least three times today. _And Gods,_ Merlin’s cheeks somehow looked even more flushed than they normally do after each small fumble. 

Merlin’s also biting his lip in that strange way that he does, and Arthur’s always found it lovely. Arthur usually only catches the small gesture when Merlin’s dressing him, or when he’s pointedly looking away while Arthur bathes, then sneaking glances when he thinks Arthur isn’t looking. Arthur has a feeling he isn’t looking most of the time, but sometimes he catches Merlin, with his reddened bottom lip swollen between his teeth, while his eyes quickly dart to the floor, his black lashes laying thick over his flushing cheeks— 

_Point being_ , Arthur just has to send Merlin away for the rest of the evening. 

\--

Merlin sits on the bed, looks around his small room, catches sight of the laundry he was to put away today, and decides that he should bring it down to Arthur’s chambers anyway, despite being sent home early.

It definitely _isn’t_ a pride thing.

It has nothing to do with him failing completely at the plan, now would just be a perfect time to put in some extra effort. 

Or so Merlin tells himself as he barges back into Arthur’s chambers with a, hopefully, flirtatious grin and a basket of _clean_ laundry.


	6. Shut up, Merlin (or Arthur's Way of Feelings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin can command dragons, strike high priestesses with lightening, and bloody shine armor better than anyone in this damned castle . . . but . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Member when I said it was about to get weird, well. Here you go.

Merlin realizes there are just certain things in life that a man can never be ready for . . .

\--

Arthur never forgets to close the bed curtains. Except when he does. As always, he tries to blame Morgana, or anyone in their social class really, when he knows in truth the fault lies on Merlin and his stupidly strange, yet arousing, behavior all day long.

\--

Uther’s dealing with tax problems in the outlining, eastern villages and hasn’t paid mind to his son or Merlin in the last few hours. This is probably a good thing.

\--

Merlin can command dragons, strike high priestesses with lightening, and bloody shine armor better than anyone in this damned castle . . . but . . . 

Walking in to the sight of Arthur—Merlin’s prince— _Merlin’s King_ —bent over on all fours, with his face smashed into a pillow. Stark naked. Two fingers submerged completely in his clinching arse. Tight thigh muscles straining from the burn. His back arching, showing Merlin every curve of strong muscle beneath his skin, is just one of those things Merlin never could’ve prepared for . . . 

“Oh hell,” Merlin huffs as he drops the basket of laundry he’s holding and retreats back the way he came. He manages to catch a glimpse of the prince sliding out his fingers with a distinctive pop, and wiping around with wide surprised eyes, before Merlin’s slamming the door behind him. 

\--

If Arthur’s chamber was to start quaking, split down the middle in a vicious earth moving crunch, and reveal a treacherous, fiery, creature-filled pit, he would gladly grab his sword and jump in right about now. 

Merlin— _Merlin_ —just walked in and saw Arthur— _the prince_ —with that— _that_ —going on.

_Bloody, bloody, shit,_ Arthur groans, humping into his mattress a bit, _bloody cocks—hell—bloody Merlin._

\--

There are also some things a man will never recover from, and seeing Arthur pleasuring himself by fucking two fingers into his own arse is just one of those things. 

So, naturally, after unsuccessfully trying to peel the image from his brain (using magic and all), Merlin gives in, sits down with his back against the door to his room, and pulls his cock out. 

\--

There are some things Uther never expected he’d have to explain to Arthur, but the absolute most shocking was when he had to lecture Arthur about man sex. 

Even now, when Uther remembers back, he shivers a bit and mentally groans. 

What was even more embarrassing was the fact that Sir Leon came to Uther with _these concerns_ , his face blushing, brow furrowed, saying he recently was growing concerned about Arthur, and some of his _overly honorable behavior_. That’s what the bloody knight called it. Bloody overly honorable behavior. 

Leon had Uther thinking that Arthur was giving too much bread to the southern villages or something; little did Uther bloody know the knight was trying to tell him that Arthur was breaking point sexually frustrated, because he was too stupid to bed a knight.

Uther rolls his eyes just thinking about it. 

_This is the life of a king._

\--

Pleasuring himself while thinking of drilling a plaint and cock hungry Arthur into the mattress does little to help his issue of facing the prince after such a scene. 

Very, very little indeed. 

Matter of fact, it was probably the worst thing Merlin could have done. 

Because all Merlin wants now, even as Arthur’s being extra prattish, trying to somehow insult the memory from Merlin’s head while giving him extra morning chores, is to push Arthur on his back and give the blond what he needs.

Merlin thinks he’s finally getting it. Getting how Uther can be so sure that Arthur wants to bed him. The king obviously knows things Merlin doesn’t. Merlin thinks back to the other day, and his and Arthur’s conversation about Will, the night that started this all. Merlin thinks about the jealousy he thought he saw Arthur wearing, which Merlin quickly replaced, thinking Arthur was disgusted. After the display he saw earlier, Merlin’s starting to think he was very, very misguided.

Arthur’s complaining rudely about something Merlin’s done wrong, but Merlin’s not listening. Instead he’s talking over Arthur, confessing, “I would have you, right now . . . so hard, until you begged me to stop.”

Arthur’s jaw drops mid-sentence, but Merlin keeps going, “I could hit spots inside of you that you never could. I could fill you up, make you feel so good, Arthur.”

And then Merlin’s groaning, involuntarily, at the image he made for himself, and Arthur’s eyes widen quite comically.

It’s quiet and still for what seems like minutes, and Merlin starts to get worried that he actually stopped time, but then Arthur’s jumping Merlin like his life depends on it.

\--

Ever since Arthur learned that bedly pleasure could be shared between men _he wanted_. First he just wanted to touch, to feel hard muscles and rough hair and hard cocks. He wanted to feel that spark light inside him as he watched his knights fight, but in his bed instead, then suddenly Uther clarified that he is prince of a kingdom and that princes of kingdoms can have _whatever_ they want. Even hard cocks.

And he suddenly _had it_. Arthur touched whatever knight he wanted, which was always the skinniest, feistiest, raven haired man still in training that he could find. Leon would joke and say Arthur had a type. Kay would laugh every time he saw the prince favoring a new boy and claim that letting Arthur grow up with Morgana must have done more damage than they originally thought. 

It took Arthur a very long time to understand that Kay was not just joking about Morgana being a total man. He actually didn’t understand what Kay meant until Morgana heard the joke one day and walked away smirking. Arthur was ready to pull an enraged Morgana off his knight, and was completely taken aback when things ended calmly. Then, realizing he must be missing something, Arthur went to Morgana for an explanation. She said that Kay was implying that Arthur, not having a mother to look up to, had turned Morgana herself into an idol, and thus was projecting his secret like of her qualities on to his lovers. 

Arthur didn’t talk to Kay for two weeks after leaving Morgana’s chambers. 

However, Arthur never wavered, he stuck with his type, and he learned everything. Things beyond kissing and touching and rubbing. Arthur learned that men could suck and lick and enjoy every inch of each other. He learned that he could spread men’s legs wide and they would open up for him the same as a woman’s would. He learned that he could tickle and poke and ravish a man’s clenching hole, and he learned that it wouldn’t be awkward or feel weird, but instead it felt amazing.

Then he learned that no one would return the favor. 

And that’s how Arthur sees it. As a favor. Because to him, it is. 

Because Arthur would lay his men flat and open them up, he would watch them quake and writhe for as long as his lovers could take it. Sometimes he would stretch them long enough for a full candle to burn down to the very end, and Arthur would watch the body beneath him and love it. Love that he could make a strong man like whichever one was in his bed that night so thoroughly debauched. 

Arthur always made sure his boys were ready, always made sure they were sweating and begging for him, and only then would Arthur bury himself inside them.

Some were tighter than others, and Arthur could always tell if it was his boy’s first time or not. That’s when Arthur first got curious, thinking that he must be tight just like them, wondering what it would feel like to get spread open. Wondering how it would feel to be split in two. So one day, when he was lying with one of his favorites, Arthur got on all fours and wiggled his arse in the air like a prize, begging the boy to indulge. The boy kissed down Arthur’s back and spread his cheeks, and Arthur thought, _this is finally it_. But instead of hard pressure, Arthur felt smooth slippery movements, and yelped. He looked back to see that the boy was simply licking him, like he was trying to clean Arthur or something, but it felt good so Arthur let him, wondering when the boy would start to open him up. He started getting anxious, because there was no way Arthur could take his first cock with only spit and the boy’s tongue to ready him, but it felt ridiculously good so Arthur let the boy do what he want, figuring he could tell the boy to stop if it hurt.

The boy did this for what felt like hours, until Arthur was moaning loud enough for anyone walking by his chambers to hear, and then the boy merely reached around and stroked Arthur’s cock twice and he was cuming all over the sheets. 

Arthur was so done for and confused as he rolled on to his back and pulled the boy on top of him, locking his legs around the other’s smaller frame, ready to take it, even if he hurt.

But what Arthur saw next confused him even further because the boy’s cock was red and softening, and there were traces of cum dripping down his legs.

“Your highness?” The young knight had asked, confused.

“Why didn’t you want to fuck me?” Arthur supplied. 

The boy turned a pale shade of pink from head to toe, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head, and that’s how Arthur learned that a normal knight either wouldn’t or couldn’t bed his prince _like that._

Arthur blamed Uther for a while, embarrassed, thinking his father had a secret knight code floating around the castle without him knowing – no sticking your pricks in the prince! But he quickly learned, after an even more embarrassing screaming match with his father that there was no such thing. The knights were simply cowards.

And, before Merlin, Arthur had never even considered a servant. He always thought that if he couldn’t find what he needed in a knight, then there was no way he would find it in a servant, but perhaps he was wrong? 

Or maybe it’s just Merlin. 

Yeah, it’s definitely just Merlin, isn’t it?

\--

Merlin lands on his back, and he probably would’ve cracked his skull open on the hard stone below them if it weren’t for Arthur’s strong hands grabbing at his hair, and locking his head in place. 

Merlin has all of two seconds to take in the beautiful sight on top of him—Arthur, red cheeked and panting with lidded blue eyes, looking completely wanton in a way Merlin’s never seen him—before Arthur’s smashing their lips together in some resemblance of a kiss.

Merlin’s pretty sure that it isn’t a kiss, though. At least not a proper one.

Arthur’s nose is poking his uncomfortably, and their teeth are clashing around, seemingly causing a louder ruckus than the training field at midday, and their tongues are fighting for dominance in the most infuriating bloody way.

_And gods above_ , does Merlin love it.

Merlin unsuccessfully tries to break away from the kiss three times before he finally manages to bring his arm up, and push Arthur back by the forehead. But before Merlin can even gasp out ‘bed,’ he’s stunned again by the sight of his prince and he moans, bucking his hips into the body above him.

Never in his life has Merlin seen something more beautiful. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed, highlighting his blue eyes, and Arthur’s lips are plump and pinker than ever, which has Merlin moaning again, because he—Emrys—warlock—dragonlord— _Merlin_ —made them like that. 

“Bed,” Merlin says when he finally regains control over his speech.

Arthur’s bed seems softer like this, with Arthur flat on his back and Merlin on his knees, looming above him. 

And Arthur seems softer like this too, as Merlin helps him pull his tunic off, and lets his hands explore Arthur’s broad chest, stopping at each nipple, giving them a small pinch. 

Arthur’s breathing like he’s training with his best knight, and Merlin loves that he can make Arthur like this and he groans. Apparently having enough of Merlin’s sounds, Arthur springs into action once more and sits up, already pulling at Merlin’s tunic. 

Then, they’re bare chest to bare chest, on their knees, staring at each other. 

Merlin’s starting to feel self-conscience as he takes in his prince’s broad shoulders and firm muscles, because Merlin thinks his own body can’t be as satisfying for Arthur.

But the prince surprises him by letting out a soft throaty moan, and pulling Merlin towards him. He starts at Merlin’s neck, messily kissing his way down to Merlin’s chest, mumbling, “Gods Merlin . . . so beautiful . . . fucking . . . gorgeous . . . always gorgeous,” along the way. 

The prince reaches Merlin’s trousers and quickly unlaces them, and Merlin’s about to ask why the hell Arthur acts like he can’t even untie a simple knot any other time, but then the prince is pulling them down and Merlin’s cock springs free. It’s already hard and dripping by now, but Merlin doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before Arthur’s strong, intent, fingers are finding it, and circling around base, engulfing Merlin in ways the warlock never imagined were possible.

Oh, _did he dream,_ though.

\--

“Stop. Stop. _Stop_ ,” Merlin begs, already pushing Arthur away, lying the blond flat on his back once more. “You can’t do that . . . not yet. Not if you want this to, you know . . . _go all the way_.”

Arthur’s so turned on he can’t even fathom making fun of Merlin for saying that. Instead, he grabs around Merlin’s head, one hand grabbing at the slope of his neck, the other fisting itself in Merlin’s coarse tuffs. Arthur pulls and Merlin clumsily sprawls on top of Arthur, elbows from hell stabbing Arthur in the process, but Arthur can’t really bring himself to care as Merlin gets to work on his neck, licking a stripe straight up to Arthur’s ear and sucking on the lobe. 

Arthur moans, his hand that’s not fisting in Merlin’s hair is sliding down Merlin’s lean frame. Merlin shivers into the touch as Arthur reaches his arse, and palms it, urging Merlin to rut against him. 

Arthur lets out a strangled gasp as Merlin complies.

\--

Arthur stops suddenly, and before Merlin can even manage a thought, Arthur’s flipped their positions. He starts kissing down Merlin’s chest once more, but this time as he reaches Merlin’s trousers, Arthur doesn’t hesitate in ripping them right off and throwing them out of sight. Then, yet again, Arthur stealthily surprises Merlin by licking his reddened lips, and falling mouth first onto Merlin’s cock.

And _fucking gods above_ , does Arthur fall, taking Merlin all the way to the base; something Merlin’s yet to accomplish in any of his and Will’s sexual escapades. Arthur teases him horribly by only giving him two slippery sucks, then pulling off.

“I thought you said that you’ve never had anyone like this?” Merlin asks, completely dazed, as Arthur glides off the bed and removes his own trousers.

Arthur answers as he lays down next to Merlin, melting against his side, “Please, Merlin. I’ve had plenty of sex. Way too much, probably. I just meant . . . well.”

“What?” Merlin asks, rolling over to face Arthur, aligning their bodies, and pulling the blond close. 

“Well, I’ve . . . never really had anyone to be jealous of, I guess. Like Will clearly was with me,” Arthur admits, not meeting Merlin’s gaze, but still wrapping his arms back around Merlin all the same. “What did you think I meant?”

“So, wait, you have had sex with a man then?” Merlin asks, ignoring Arthur’s question. 

“Plenty of man sex, Merlin.” Arthur sighs, kissing along Merlin jawline. “Never had a cock, though,” he adds, flipping over so his backsides along Merlin’s front, and pushing his hips back, “want one so bad.”

Merlin groans, planning on indulging.

It’s definitely a pride thing.

\--

Arthur knows he shouldn’t be acting like this, begging for something, especially a servant’s cock, but Arthur can’t help it. That’s what happens when one deprives a spoiled child of something it wants for so long. 

Luckily, Merlin, as usual, has no regard for social protocol and instantly ruts against Arthur’s arse. Whispering encouragements into Arthur’s ear as Merlin’s long fingers slide in-between the cheeks, parting him. 

“Do you have . . ?”

Arthur pulls the small vile from under the pillow and hands it over.

\--

Merlin takes the vial from Arthur with unsteady hands, and then, letting the small item lay loosely in the light grasp of his fingers, Merlin guides the smooth glass down Arthur's side, causing a small shiver to run down the prince’s spine. 

"Gods, Arthur," Merlin whispers into the nape of the blonde’s neck, and then, not able to stop himself, Merlin admits, "I think we were made for each other."

Arthur tenses, and Merlin realizes what he said, and stutters, trying to smooth it over, "I mean, um, well, just—"

“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, “shut up.”

“Right,” Merlin says, complying, popping the cork off and coating his fingers with the slippery liquid. 

Parting Arthur is easy, two fingers sliding in with barely any resistance, but Merlin can feel that tightness sucking on his fingertips. Merlin realizes it’s because his fingers are just a bit longer than Arthur’s are, and he’s breeching new territory just by fingering Arthur open. 

Merlin looks to the blond, whose eyes have slipped shut, his bottom lipped tucked under his teeth. Letting his eyes roam the scape of Arthur’s body, Merlin goes on to realize with a frown, that Arthur’s fingers are much wider than his own are.

Merlin pulls his fingers out and dives back in with three, smiling into Arthur’s neck as the blond moans aloud. 

Once Merlin’s spread Arthur open with three fingers some more, he sits up and turns the prince over, laying him on his back, and then pressing three fingers into his tight heat again.

Merlin pulls one of Arthur’s legs up, tucking it against the blonde’s chest, giving himself a better view. 

Arthur’s begging again, and Merlin’s untouched cock is on the brink of cuming despite his desperate wishing, so Merlin figures it’s about time to get a move on.

“Arthur, I’ma—bout to—“

“Fuck me now or stocks for a week,” Arthur threatens.

Merlin pulls his fingers out and, meeting the prince’s gaze, he smiles a cocky smile before sliding into Arthur base deep. 

And Merlin’s stunned at the feel of it. His magic bubbling happy just along the surface of his skin, dying to burst through. Gods, forget about Arthur . . . Merlin should’ve gave himself time to adjust.

Nothing. No sex has ever felt like this before. Merlin’s filling Arthur up, but it’s like Arthur is filling him up at the same time. In ways Merlin never knew were possible. Merlin’s every fiber his heating, and he forces his eyes closed last minute, knowing they’re about to glow gold.

And Merlin can’t fucking move. Just can’t do it. He won’t be able to hold back.

But then Merlin feels it, a slow friction moving along his cock, and his magic just kinda bursts, along with his resolve. 

\--

Arthur cries out at the initial breach, his legs spreading wide as Merlin falls on top of him, pressing Arthur's knees into his chest. 

Arthur loves it. His heart’s picking up pace, and his breath catches in his throat. Where he and Merlin connect flares heat, sparking, and sends pulsing warm shocks throughout his body. Arthur would almost describe it as glowing or something.

He never thought it would feel like this and he's pretty sure it's not supposed to, but he can't bring himself to care right now, because Merlin is just bloody staying there. Completely still.

And Arthur might die if Merlin doesn't move. So Arthur tries to voice this. He really does. But the words get clogged in his throat, coming out only as moans. Arthur's muscles comply willingly, though, and he grips Merlin's hips and starts pushing himself back on to Merlin's cock.

Merlin's closed eyes fly open with the movement, and Arthur gasps because Merlin's eyes they're—

_Fuck._

It hits Arthur then, the wave of heated power, washing over him, pleasuring him deep inside, in ways he never knew we're possible.

It blinds him momentarily, his sight flashing white, but Arthur can feel it. Feel everything. All of Merlin. Surrounding him, filling him, melting into him. And Arthur doesn't think he'll ever be able to part with this feeling. 

\--

Merlin lets out a strangled cry, his vision golden and unseeing. Arthur's body accepts him, and Merlin can't stop. His everything taking to Arthur, welcoming him, and latching on. Merlin's magic, his cock, his everything. 

Merlin might be making Arthur glow, either that or his eyes are deceiving him, but he can't stop. Any of it. All Merlin can do is grab Arthur tighter, pump harder, and faster. 

\--

Merlin starts whispering things into Arthur's neck, and Arthur's not sure if he's doing it consciously or not, but he takes in the words like law. 

"Arthur. Fuck. Sorry. So fucking sorry."

Pump. Pump.

"Arthur. I love you. I'm so sorry."

Pump. Pump. Pump.

"I need you. Arthur. Fuck. Please."

Pump. Pump.

"Die without you. Please."

Pump.

"Fuck. All for you, Arthur."

Pump. Pump. Pump.

"Give you everything. Anything. _Fuck._ "

Pump.

Merlin gasps, and Arthur cries out at the new feeling looming around his neglected cock. The warm pressure circles his shaft like fire warmed fingers, but Merlin hasn't moved.

Arthur cums at the same time that every foreign touch ghosting along his body flares hotter, and brighter. And Merlin tenses and spills, painting Arthur from the inside. 

Merlin falls pliant on top of Arthur, their shared breaths puffing hot. Eventually Merlin rolls off, taking one of Arthur's pillows and pulling it over his face.

Merlin lets out a few muffled screams into the pillow, pulls it away from his face, and then rolls over, looking at Arthur very seriously, with tears welling in his eyes.

"Please. Arthur. Let me fuck you one more time before I lose my head,” Merlin requests. “I can get up again in like ten minutes, we can time it on the cand—“

"Merlin," Arthur groans, "shut up."


	7. Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus!!!! 
> 
> I'm warning you now . . . this story . . . 
> 
> Yeah, consider yourself warned.

A lot of awkwardness is saved by their passion, and Merlin’s thankful for the lucky timing . . . at first.

\--

Arthur fled to the training field, because Merlin just—he just—did that. Y’know just sorcery . . . it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything.

\--

Uther’s still rolling his eyes, though, he’s way out of the loop this time.

\--

Arthur manages to avoid Merlin all day, which had to be hard, because once Merlin realized that Arthur had snuck out of bed while Merlin was too blissed out to notice, the warlock went on a manhunt: Blond, pratty prince addition. He never found Arthur, which could only mean the prince is avoiding him, but Merlin still has his head, so there’s that. After his failed search, Merlin found he couldn’t be content in the silence, no matter how much he tried, which is why, instead of waiting for Arthur to summon him, Merlin waits in the prince’s chamber most of the day.

When Arthur finally comes in, he looks like, way too surprised to see Merlin there, and Merlin just wants to scream, because after all those embarrassing confessions that Merlin bloody _gasped right into Arthur’s ear_ , the prince should know that Merlin would never leave him, even if it meant burning at the stake. How dare Arthur think that Merlin’s so cowardly? Merlin doesn’t scream, though, he manages to supply a polite, “Good evening, sire,” instead.

\--

Arthur’s been thinking all day. He was deep in thought all throughout training, and council, and even after all that thinking, Arthur is still at a loss for words. He finds himself craving Merlin, but somehow he knows it’s not a magical thing. It’s just Merlin. It’s always been Merlin. Arthur knows what he should do, but he knows he can’t the moment he walks in and lays sight on the uneasy and ruffled mess pacing around his chambers. Arthur didn’t think it would be like this. He’s thought about the moment over and over throughout the day. The first time he would see Merlin again after all . . . _that_. 

Arthur didn’t think Merlin would look so . . . _ahh_ , and Arthur certainly didn’t think he, himself would feel so . . . _ahhkghckhgv._ So, instead of banishing Merlin from his lands like he intended, Arthur finds himself blurting out a confession of, “I’m hurt by you, Merlin, but I never want you to be scared of me. I think you should go now, though. I still need to think.”

Merlin goes swiftly and quietly, but he stops to kiss Arthur as he makes his retreat, like he can’t help himself. It’s just a chaste peck, laid lightly to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, but he can feel the heat of Merlin’s power seeping into his skin and begging to be close to him again. Arthur’s grateful for the gesture in ways he can’t fathom. He needed to remember that feeling. 

\--

Uther can tell that Arthur’s been thinking all day. It’s not a good look. Arthur is much prettier stupid. Those are Morgana’s words, not Uther’s, he loves his son endlessly.

But he can’t help it if it’s the truth. 

Point being, Uther can tell Arthur’s been thinking too much for his own good, which means something must have happened. Uther’s betting that the something is Merlin’s doing. The servant may be useless at tactics, but he seems to have a charm that causes Arthur to stumble and blush like a—a—

Uther was going to say like a lady, but he’s afraid Morgana might castrate him for even thinking something so ‘demeaning’ or whatever else she never shuts up about. 

She may be Uther’s own blood, but that’s all the more reason not to trust her. Uther knows she would brutally murder him if she had the chance and the motive. He still loves her, he just has to keep her from getting the chance. The motive is a lost cause. Uther saw Morgana defend a rock once. That was a sad, sad day for Arthur. 

Anyway, once Uther finally catches a glimpse of his son’s beautiful blond hair emerging from the small stair case that leads to the lower east corridor (he always goes there when he’s trying to be smart), Uther knows what needs to be done.

“Merlin,” Uther shouts, “find the boy and bring him to me.”

\--

Merlin’s smiling. He can’t help it. He’s a sorcerer banging a prince! Sure, the prince may have a dad, who’s the king . . . of Camelot . . . which is a place where they kill sorcerers . . . brutally . . . without exceptions . . . usually by the lot . . . 

Yeah, Merlin still doesn’t see a problem. You probably wouldn’t either if you’d gotten all up in that arse.

So, Merlin’s _really_ smiling as retreats back his room. That is, until, George, hello-everyone-I’m-perfect-yes-perfectly-perfect, suddenly springs out from behind a corner and proceeds to give Merlin the stink eye while blocking his way.

“Yes?” Merlin asks, raising one highly unimpressed brow. 

“The king request your presence immediately.” 

Yep, if George hadn’t already killed his smile, that surly would have. Merlin tries to flee, because talking to Uther right now is honestly the worst thing he can think of. Who knows what Uther knows? Or wants to know? 

_Yes, my lord, I did just use my unusual assortment of flailing limbs and powerful magic to fuck your son into his mattress._

Merlin turns and books it. 

Well, he tries to anyway. George is way stronger than he looks. 

\--

Arthur paces his chamber for a while, imagining that he’s walking over the worried steps Merlin had been taking all day. Because Merlin stayed. In Arthur’s room. Just waiting to be judged. 

_Merlin stayed._

Which means Merlin wasn’t lying. Means that Merlin wasn’t just trying to keep his head this morning when he said all those things. 

Arthur hadn’t been sure they weren’t just a product of the sex and fear, but Merlin stayed, which means . . . 

_Arthur. I love you. I'm so sorry._

_I need you. Arthur. Please._

_Die without you. Please._

_All for you, Arthur._

_Give you everything. Anything._

. . . It’s all true. Arthur can’t help but smile at his own discovery. 

Then Arthur realizes he’s still kind of feeling it. It’s not a smell, or a sound, or a taste, or a sight. It’s not even a tangible feeling really. It’s just there. In his nostrils, on his skin, warming him to the very core. It feels like Merlin is still there, or somehow left part of him behind when he left. Arthur thinks that maybe it’s always felt like this after Merlin is all up in his business all day, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on what caused the feeling before. Now, Arthur’s guessing it has something to do with the magic. All that magic, because that was like, a fuckton of magic being um, _displayed_ this morning. What’s really scary is how used to this Arthur feels already.

_Gods_ , Arthur thinks, _what in all the hells am I going to do?_

Arthur doesn’t want to lie to his father about Merlin’s magic, but he also needs someone to talk to and, for once in a long time, Arthur finds himself wanting fatherly support.

It’s the strangest thing ever, but Arthur heads to the king’s chambers.

\--

The servant with the stick up his arse brings Merlin in practically kicking and screaming. As soon as Merlin lays sight on Uther’s smile, he ceases all movement and his eyes go wide.

Uther has to hold back his laugh. Yes. It seems _something_ definitely happened.

Stick-up-arse serves them food while they sit in silence. Once the food is ready and the wine has been poured, Uther opens his mouth to inquire about details—

There’s a knock at his chamber door. Stick-up-arse quickly shuffles over to see who it is, and then turns over his shoulder to announce in that gods-awful mono-tone, “The prince would like to join you for dinner, my lord, should I tell him you have company?”

Uther looks to Merlin right as the boy’s head thumps heavily against the table. 

“Nonsense,” Uther smiles while waving the wine glass around in a dismissive gesture, “send him in.”

Merlin’s still face-first in the table, but he makes some kind of noise at Uther’s choice and, in all honesty, its sounds so pained Uther might even feel a little bad for him.

But not enough to stop.

\--

Merlin didn’t think things could get worse, but. Well. 

_Arthur’s face._

Gods, Merlin’s seen Arthur stand up to beasts and look less frightened then when he walks through the door and takes in the sight of Merlin—the sorcerer, who he just had sex with—sitting with his father—the king, who despises all things magical.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s fear fades just as fast as it appeared, and is quickly replaced with anger. The prince stalks forward to the table, but doesn’t sit. Merlin watches the way Arthur’s jaw clenches, and Merlin knows that soon he’s going to have to find words if he wants to stop Arthur from saying something stupid and causing Merlin to lose his head. But when Merlin tries to talk his mouth just keeps opening and closing and the words stay clogged in his throat. 

Arthur, apparently, has no such problem. 

“Father,” the prince starts, voice commanding, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Uther merely raises a brow. “I refuse . . . you cannot . . . I will not let you kill him—“ 

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts, his voice suddenly working again . . . loudly. Everyone in the room flinches, even perfect George. “I think Uther and I should probably tell you something . . . like right now!”

Arthur raises a brow, of course he does. Because since when does Merlin call Uther, well, by his name? The other brow joins Arthur’s first one when Uther doesn’t even blink at the sound of it, and instead sighs and agrees, “Yes, Arthur, sit down.”

Arthur stares straight at Merlin for the first time since he walked through the door as he steps closer and slips into a chair. And yeah . . . Uther definitely passed down the whole staring into one’s soul ability. 

“I’m fine with it,” Uther starts and why did he have to choose those words? Arthur’s eyes widen to comic proportions and he opens his mouth—probably to protest the absolute absurdity of that statement—but Merlin shuts him up with a swift kick under the table. Uther ignores the commotion and keeps going, which luckily seems to stun Arthur into silence, “I guess I should have made this clear years ago, but you can sleep with whoever you like, Arthur, servants included. Matter of fact, I was under the assumption that you and Merlin had been sleeping together for a while . . . until the other day that is, Merlin made it clear that you haven’t been. We’ve been trying to fix that problem ever since.”

Uther turns to Merlin with one of those genuinely fond smiles then, but Merlin barely notices the creepiness, because he’s too busy staring at Arthur, waiting for the prince’s reaction.

But Arthur stays blank. Merlin keeps staring, and eventually Arthur starts mouthing around air like a fish out of water and sputters, “you . . . sleeping together . . . fixing the problem . . .” And yes, Arthur’s face hardens then, just like Merlin was expecting, “no . . . you mean?” He’s looking at Merlin again now, “you were trying! That whole damn time!” 

“It was only a few days, and I was completely failing at it!” Merlin argues, now is not time for his pride thing. 

Arthur seems to finally realize that this has nothing to do with sorcery, at all, and smiles a shy smile. 

“Thank you, father, you have no idea what this means to me.”

Uther waves off Arthur’s comment, “please, son . . . I never needed to be persuaded on the matter of love. Now . . . finding you a wife that’s okay with all this . . . well that’s another thing entirely.”

Both Merlin and Arthur promptly choke on their wine.

Uther rolls his eyes and thinks _idiots_ at the same time Merlin thinks _if he only knew . . ._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you like this silly fic! 
> 
> If you like my writing, I'd love for you to send me any prompt ideas, kinks, whatever that you wanna see written out!
> 
> Leave me a comment, or be really amazing, and find me on tumblr at http://i-amtheoutlaw.tumblr.com/
> 
> My ask box is open!! And I'll take nearly anything merthur! Or destiel . . . or sterek. But I'm really open to a lot of pairings on all these shows. Try me!!!


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